


what happened to content moderation?

by fr0ntier



Category: Upload (TV 2020)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, New fandom alert hehe, and probably out of character considering the show hasn't even been released?, this is the earliest I've ever been!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fr0ntier/pseuds/fr0ntier
Summary: Nora spends a late night at the office and discovers, without much of a warning, that her latest ward is going to be a handful. Pun intended.
Relationships: Nathan Brown/Nora Antony
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	what happened to content moderation?

Nora grits her teeth every time she has to say “timeless Americana”. She hates this job, hates the company, hates each and every single one of the uppity rich assholes she guides through their afterlife initiation. They’re so disconnected from reality, literally, and even in death they manage to be offensive.

“Oh, I didn’t expect any of _your people_ to be here. Well, as long as you’re around—” says Nora’s latest charge, some middle age housewife, and loads Nora’s arms up with luggage (where did she even _get_ all this). The lady _hmphs_ a little when Nora doesn’t move, and puts her hands on her hips.

“If this is your idea of quality customer service… I’ll need to speak to your manager,” the woman announces.

_You’re dead, you cranky bitch, and you’re still trying to pull a Karen on me?_

She hates this job.

* * *

After her (long, tiring, infuriating) report is done, Nora pushes away from her station and pinches the bridge of her nose. A glance at the clock tells her that her coworkers have been gone for close to two hours. Nora needs that promotion, though, so she’s been putting in extra time to impress her boss. Of course, the company doesn’t pay her overtime — that would be ridiculous. Treating their employees like humans? Pshhh. She’s banking on the fact that the position, if she gets it, will give her an extra dozen at the end of each month. With that much, she won’t have to pay her water bill late and avoid late charges.

She takes off the heavy headset and rubs the tip of her sore, red ear, and glances around. The office is even more haunting in the evening. Every cubby, with a matching sleek, matte-black desk, chair, and double screen setup, is lit only with the light from their keyboards. It washes the room in a disconcerting reddish glow. A shiver races up her spine. If she wasn’t eager to leave before…

Her computer pings.

“Come on,” she hisses under her breath, exasperated, and sinks back into her chair. The right-hand monitor wakes from its sleep mode and indicates that she has an unread message from the company communication app.

_Employee #4401348884331239:_

_You have been assigned a new case file…_

“Ugh!” She shouts, slams the flat of her fist down on the desk. The beagle-shaped cup full of pencils —her _one_ allowed personal item — next to her mouse jumps and tips over. Nora’s juggling an extended work schedule and the most cases out of any of her coworkers, so the fact that they’re dumping one _more_ on her is infuriating. She knows they’re not people to the company, so of course the higher ups don’t put a second thought towards their mental well-being, but still…

Her eyes prickle with the threat of tears, but she’s definitely put enough of those towards this job. She refuses to cry about it anymore. Instead she squares her shoulders and clicks on the message, downloads the attached case file, and begins to read.

* * *

Her newest ward is linked through the Kannerman file, but he’s not a member of the family. Well. It would be concerning if he _was_. He’s dating, or _was_ , in life anyway, Ingrid Kannerman. Nora’s seen her name in the grocery line gossip mags before. Ingrid, and the rest of the Kannermans, are your typical snooty, white, upper-class family.

Nathan, the dead guy who’s being uploaded to their servers as she reads his file, is different from her usual assignments. Although he looks like the typical young, rich white guy, he’s different. Not the son of an oil tycoon, or an LA socialite, or an Ivy League grad who made it big in Silicon Valley with some dating app.

He’s not old money, or new money — in fact, he’s _no_ money.

Nora frowns.

No one gets to upload if they don’t have money. There’s a lottery system in place, sure, but no average person has ever won it. Because it’s rigged, of course, to favor whoever sinks the most cash into entries. Employees aren’t even allowed to enter for a chance to get uploaded. Well, they can, but you have to sacrifice several years worth of salary, and if you’re desperate enough to work for the company, you’re desperate to get paid and can’t really sacrifice…y’know. Money.

“Okay, Nathan,” Nora murmurs to herself, intrigued. “Who _are_ you?”

She clicks through his file, eyes darting from memory to memory. This is her favorite part of the process, even if it’s really creepy. She gets to see this person’s life, their achievements and failures, _feel_ their motivations, their dreams and desires. Nora’s an introvert, despite the nature of her job, but she loves people, loves humanity. She likes to get to know people at their core.

And at _Nathan’s_ core? Well, he’s…average. That’s really all she can glean from him. Average life, average upbringing, other than the fact that he’s dating the youngest Kannerman. The company scans for things like violent records or sex crimes, social connections and drug use — although most folk can get around the red tape by greasing enough palms. Nathan’s got one juvenile arrest in his hometown for underage drinking, which Nora snorts at, but other than that he’s clean. But not _squeaky_ clean. She’s been doing this long enough that she knows when someone is _too_ clean, when something has been covered up or polished away.

As she reads, Nora begins to come to the conclusion that Nathan is average, but _cute_ , in that simple small town kind of way. She probably wouldn’t glance at him twice on the street — New York has plenty of slightly more attractive than average white men. But there’s something charming about him. Symmetrical features, big expressive eyes, nice smile. Nora clicks through another memory and pauses on an image of him looking in the mirror, leaning closer to the screen.

There. As far as flaws go, he doesn’t have many. Usually she’s not into that. She likes _real_ people, the ones who look human, act human.

She finds one on Nathan, though. His smile.

Eyes narrow, Nora studies the screen, studies his face. Notes the slightly uneven edge of his bright smile and absentmindedly traces her thumb along the line of her own teeth. She’d gotten bullied in school for her teeth, _begged_ her parents to go to an orthodontist like her rich friends even if she knew the family didn’t have enough money. Looks like Nathan can relate.

Nora smiles. She likes when she can share something with her wards. It makes everything less painful. She clicks again and leans back in her chair to stretch as waits for the next memory to buffer. At least they’ll have something in common, and she hopes he won’t be nearly as unpleasant as —

“Oh— Oh my GOD!” She screeches, throwing herself away from her desk and ripping off the headset. She loses her balance, trips over her own feet and goes crashing to the floor. Scrambling to get upright again, she keeps one hand over her eyes as the other scrambles desperately for the mouse.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks “Untagged! Untagged! Oh my god, SHH— what the fuck, what even — ?”

She’s still kneeling on the floor, arms stretched over her desk. She has to peek at the screen to find the pause button and regrets it immediately, receiving an eyeful of too much skin

(smoothed, encasing _considerable_ amounts of rippling muscle and —)

 _Shut up shut up shut up!_ She silences her brain, shutting _that_ shit down, and absolutely does not peek through her fingers as she closes out of the file.

Nora breathes a sigh of relief and drags herself back into her chair, fingers locked in her curls as she shakes her head. Usually the tech guys catch this kind of content, tag it NSFW, during the upload, but she supposes the file is new enough that it hasn’t been sorted yet… _fuck_. She worries her lip between her teeth, eyes darting around the dim office and the corners of it that catch alight as the sun rises over the New York skyline. Contrary to her expectations, this ward might prove hard _(ugh, come on)_ — might be more of a handful _(UGH!)_ —

With one last sigh, Nora hides her face in her folded arms and gives up for the night.


End file.
